Disasters in Dragon Killing
by Duchess Delanie
Summary: Sequel to "Disasters in Childrearing".  Stoick deals with a plan to finally wipe out the dragons.  And deals with a son who probably should not be anywhere near dragons.
1. Dragon Training

_Hi. I have decided to do a sequel to "Disasters in Childrearing" (highly recommend you read that first) This will take place during the movie, so it won't have the broad span of time as the other story. Still, I hope to keep that piece-by-piece feel, so the chapters here might not flow smoothly between each other. _

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Stoick really hated it when other people were right. Especially in messy situations where no one deserved to be right. The entire village had been there, they had all witnessed the disaster Hiccup caused. A ridiculous amount of lost food, half the docks, multiple burn victims—and all because Hiccup had disobeyed the instruction (from half the village, no less) to stay inside.

Was it really that difficult for the boy? A dog could be taught to stay inside. An intelligent teenager should definitely be able to. But it was like Hiccup did not know the meaning of the words.

So it should not have been right that Stoick should just give up and let Hiccup join dragon training. Was that Gobber's only idea? Stoick was the only person who knew Hiccup better, so shouldn't Gobber be more aware of Hiccup's accident-prone nature? "Put him in training with the others". That was his brilliant piece of advice?

But as much as Stoick argued back, he could not shake that horrible and sneaking feeling that Gobber was right.

Technically, Hiccup was old enough. Technically, Hiccup wanted nothing more than to fight dragons. Technically, it might be a good idea for him to know how a Viking actually killed dragons. Technically, nothing would make Stoick more proud than to see Hiccup slaying the devils, one right after the other.

He finally stopped arguing.

Plans were made. The ships would leave in a matter of hours, warriors ready for one more desperate attempt to find the nest. If it worked, the dragon problem would be over. Hiccup could stop his obsession with dragons. Maybe Stoick could, too.

Maybe Hiccup would stop trying to get himself killed every time one appeared.

Maybe Stoick would stop wishing Hiccup could kill one.

He returned to the house. It was dark and cold. He had tried over the years to make it look like a home, with food supply and furniture and a nice arrangement of family shields and weapons along the walls. It was practical, comfortable, and suited his and Hiccup's needs. Plus, it had been an impressive number of years since the last time it had been burned down. But the truth was that it hadn't felt like a home in more years than he could count. Well, it was just a house. What more could a man want?

Though the absence of a fire suggested exactly what Gobber had thought.

Stoick sighed and slipped his helmet onto a rafter. "Hiccup!"

No answer. He was probably upstairs pouting. If he was anywhere.

"Hiccup!" he bellowed again. "We have to talk!" About what? Was he really going to allow Hiccup to go into dragon training? He hadn't exactly made up his mind about that yet. He went up the stairs. No Hiccup.

Of course.

That settled it. No dragon training. Stoick had flat-out told him to get back to the house. No excuses for not being there. "Get back to the house" did not mean "get back to the house and then leave again without begging permission of your father". It meant "get back to the house and stay there, not touching anything, not doing anything, until you had a little chat with your father." He should have told Gobber to barricade Hiccup in.

Stoick stomped back downstairs, grabbed a basket, and began throwing supplies into it without any thoughtful regard of what he was doing. He should go out and look Hiccup, drag him back here. Stoick was not going to tolerate such blatant disregard of orders.

Dragon training. Yes, it was a bad idea. If Hiccup couldn't listen to directions, he was going to get killed.

He had promised his wife he would protect Hiccup and keep him safe.

It was far too cold and dark inside. He tossed the basket to the floor and went for wood. Hiccup should have started the fire. What was the point of having him work as a blacksmith if he couldn't be bothered to start a fire?

And just where was Hiccup? Off wandering in the woods? Pestering someone? Looking for the Night Fury he had insisted he had shot down? Wouldn't that just tickle fate if Hiccup really had managed to hit a dragon with one of his crazy contraptions, then get to close to it and have it roast him?

Which was maybe why he needed to know what to do around dragons.

Maybe Gobber was right.

For years Stoick had thought Hiccup would make a great Viking. When he was bigger. When he learned to pay attention. When he learned to follow orders. When he was strong enough to wield a decent weapon. When he stopped causing so much trouble. Maybe those "whens" were never going to come.

Which meant Stoick could shamefully raise a son he couldn't trust to be let of the house or take a deep breath, say a prayer to every god who would listen, and let Hiccup become a true Viking.

Valhallarama would have wanted a son who made her proud.

Besides, Hiccup was smart. He could pick it up, the art of dragon killing. Maybe. Hopefully. And it was just training. Somewhat controlled. Not too much could go wrong.

Stoick felt sick just thinking about it.

But there was almost an image in his head. Hiccup the Viking. It was a good image.

No. The risk was too terrifying. Hiccup could not handle it, not the way he was.

But the ships were leaving shortly. His own command. They would be gone a few weeks at the shortest time, would be sunk or eaten in the worst case scenario. He really was going to be leaving Hiccup alone for a long time. That couldn't be bad. The last time he had been gone had been for a week. Nothing too bad had happened. But this was longer. Potentially suicidal.

After so long, Hiccup would wander outside and try to kill a dragon. And Stoick would not be there to protect him. He would be far away, trying to stop the dragons that wanted to come to Berk and try to kill Hiccup.

Stoick had no choice.

He would have to let Hiccup going into dragon training.

He wiped panicked sweat from his brow and tried to calm his racing heart. He had been hit by a wave of terror, pride, and resignation. Did other parents feel this way when they sent their children to train? Was this normal?

He would just have to handle it the best he could. He would be calm when Hiccup tried to sneak back into the house. He would not bring up the fact that Hiccup should not have run off in the first place. He would not even bring up the incident that morning. It would just be a calm, normal father and son talk, all past transgressions forgiven. He would show Hiccup he was proud of him, that he trusted him, that he felt he was ready to become a man.

He felt sick all over again.


	2. First Word

"So did you put Hiccup in training, then?" Gobber asked pleasantly as Stoick passed him on the way to the waiting ships.

Training. By Thor's beard, this was probably going to wind up as the biggest mistake Stoick would ever make. He made a gruff sound he intended to be a yes and continued on his way. Gobber had all but talked Stoick into this terrifying decision.

"I know you well enough to take that as a positive, but I don't want you to come back to his fried little body and blame me for it. I'm expecting a real yes, Stoick."

Stoick was being followed. He stopped, shifted the basket on his back, and turned to Gobber. He felt every piece of pride inside of him wasting away. "Yes, I told him he could be in dragon training."

Gobber grinned widely. "Ah, a wise decision. I guarantee it'll be the best parenting choice you will ever make."

Or the worst. Stoick managed a nod. He felt sick. It hadn't been the announcement he had been hoping for. The least Hiccup could have done would have shown a little enthusiasm to make Stoick think he was at least making the right decision. Not the obnoxious teenage "I changed my mind" behavior.

"Was he excited?" Gobber seemed positively thrilled at having his apprentice being eaten by a Deadly Nadder. "Only he's been complaining about it for a few years now."

Excited was hardly the word. Hiccup had slunk into the house in one of his weird attempts to act invisible, like he wasn't noticeable, and tried to insist he didn't want to fight dragons, that he couldn't kill dragons. "Oh, he's up for it. We made a deal."

"Oh? What's the deal?"

"The usual. He'll complete dragon training, become a Viking."

Gobber nodded, pleased enough. "What's in it for him?"

Like a deal was supposed to include something for Hiccup. "Just that. It's about time he took his place in the village." He prayed Gobber wouldn't bring up the fact that it had been his idea. "Grow up, fight dragons."

"The very dragons you are going out to defeat once and for all at this very moment?"

The ships were ready, just as Stoick had ordered. Bows facing the horizon, ready to hunt down that bloody island of dragons and finish this multi-century mess. Stoick shifted the basket once more and resumed walking. "It's what he wants. It's what I want. We'll both be happy."

"Glad to hear that," Gobber replied rather vaguely. "Safe travels."

"Thanks."

Hiccup. Killing dragons. Stoick still couldn't get over the idea. But like every child in the village, Hiccup had been obsessed with dragons for years. In fact, "dragon" had been Hiccup's first word. Couldn't manage "mamma" or "dadda" for at least six more words, but he could say "dragon" right from the get-go. Stoick missed the younger version of Hiccup. That life had been so much easier.

The warriors were ready, preparing the ships and themselves for a possibly suicidal mission, something they would pick over dealing with Hiccup. Stoick boarded the largest ship, not saying a word to anyone besides what was necessary for setting sail. Supplies were stocked, sails freshly patched, the wind solid. Yes, it was time, and Odin willing they could find that island, destroy the nest, and be back before Hiccup could get himself killed.

It was a good feeling, he had to admit. It was a plan of determination and leadership, taking his job seriously of caring for the village. He pulled out the map, the most recently drawn over a century ago. He knew the rocky crags, many men had gone through them countless times with no success in finding the dragons. It wasn't so much a matter of finding the right island, it was a matter of getting through that deathly maze. One would know they were in the right area by the number of angry dragons baring down on the ships. Who knew how many lives and ships had been lost there over the centuries.

Stoick was going to end it.

The ships set sail, wind dutifully pushing them along, weather on the horizon clear.

He remembered the first time Hiccup had ever seen a dragon. He must have been no more than two, playing outside the house while his mother hung up laundry. A pack of Terrible Terrors had burst down, the first signs of a raid. Valhallarama had been quick to snatch Hiccup and take him back inside while Stoick ran to start the defense, but he could not forget the look of sheer amazement on the toddler's face.

Something of a pity Hiccup was going to learn to kill them.


	3. Helheim's Gate

It was farther than any Viking ship had ever traveled toward the rocky crags where centuries of words had said kept the dragons hidden from humans. Stoick had always found the area legendary and terrifying, like it should be approached with honor. Not that dragons deserved honor. They were animals at best, and pests, pure and simple. Even so, he could not keep back a grudging respect for the dragons. To nest here in a place of mists and rocks where not even the lowest fish made their home.

But it was also terrifying and terrible, the worst any story could tell. A dark fantasy land of impossible rocks and water that seemed nearly alive. The ships moved slowly toward the crop of rocks. Stoick's keen eyes could see the narrow twists the boats would have to make. It would take the finest sailing any of them had to get through. The nest would be in the middle of it, of course. That's where they would keep themselves, purposely safe.

Well, they were Vikings, and Vikings did not take no for an answer. This was it. They were so close. No more waiting around for dragons to strike. Nip it at the bud by destroying the nest. The best defense was a good offense.

They would be heroes for later generations.

Everyone was quiet, all attention put on the approaching rocks. The mist rose thick and wet, and dove into Stoick's lungs. It would be like sailing through mud, as dense as it was, but Stoick was sure that if he could just get close enough, he could feel his way to the nest through Viking instinct. Somehow, he would know and he knew that he would know. He stared down at the map, where the meager drawing showed the very area they were heading toward.

"I can almost smell them," he muttered. "They're close."

The mist grew taller and taller before them, like a cliff, with only the barest points of rock showing through. Stoick tried not to feel fear. He had a reputation as leader and he would be the sturdy rock the men needed.

"Steady." He wasn't sure if he was talking about the ships or his men or himself.

He studied it slowly. Yes, he was sure. It had to be done. "Take us in. Toward Helheim's Gate."

The pause between could have lasted eons as his ship plowed across the ocean surface. Slowly, very slowly, the ship entered the wall of cloud.

Phlegma the Fierce gasped.

Women. Stoick turned to her, questioning.

"I saw something," she whispered as she gripped the edge of the ship.

Stoick turned his eyes upward. The wet spray covered his face. All he could see was the mist. "I don't see anything."

"A flash," she said. "Fire. The mist killed it quickly."

"Too wet for dragons around here," Spitelout muttered under his breath. "Good."

Stoick nodded in agreement.

"It'll make it easy, then" Spitelout continued with a hint at the passionate violence of which he was capable. "Too damp for fire. Their best offense against us. It's perfect. We get in there, cut them to pieces, burn the nest, and we're done."

Burn the nest? Stoick didn't bother to point out the irony and impossibility of such a goal. Otherwise Spitelout was right. The dragons had chosen a bad location for the nest, were this it.

Why would dragons choose such a place? He didn't like the question.

The sails hung down, damp and useless in the thick mist. No wind could get to where they were. There was the mildest of scraping sounds. The water was shallow here. They could probably get out and swim or even walk if they needed. Stoick was fine with that. In fact, he even enjoyed the idea of a destructive march to the nest. Whatever would get them closer to the dragon nest and ending this.

Ending it. Right now recruits were being trained back at Berk. Why had he ordered that? Where was his faith here? Did he mean to drive the dragons away now, or was he relying too much on the safety of having teenagers, of all people, ready to fight?

Teenagers ready to fight. Hah.

Hiccup was among them.

That terrified Stoick even more. What had he been thinking, allowing Hiccup to train? As the ship shoved forward into the mist Stoick considered it. The sickening terror he had felt at the very idea. It was impossible to stop his imagination from wondering, and the dark mist made it all the worse.

Hiccup. How was he doing? Had he been killed yet? How many limbs had he lost? How burned was he? Stoick fought a sudden urge to turn right around and check on Hiccup, the dragon nest be damned. What sort of leader was he to turn toward this area when there was hardly a soul left in Berk to defend it? What sort of father was he to leave Hiccup in such a scrape? Maybe Hiccup was surviving. Maybe he was actually doing well. He was Stoick's son, as scrawny as he was, and that had to count for something. Maybe doing well was too much to ask, but holding his own? That could be possible.

The sound of a deep thump against stone pulled Stoick from his thoughts.

More men cried out as something moved in the mists. Stoick saw it from the corner of his eye, like a rock, only much taller, much more slender.

Dragon. A great snaky shadow of a dragon, as tall as the rocks about them, defending its territory.

They were close. The thought hit Stoick with enthusiastic delirium. He could taste them, far more than smell them.

They were close to a nest and a dragon had already spotted them.

Its mouth curved open, teeth white against the gray. Its wings gripped for the support of the wet air and found it. The beast seemed to hover.

"Get ready!" Stoick cried as a ball of flame erupted in the air before quickly dissolving in the wet air. Why would they make their nest in a place where they could scarcely light a fire? It made no sense and it was the lack of answer that terrified Stoick. An unsolved riddle.

But the dragon lurched forward in a great single bound and flap of its wings. A Monstrous Nightmare, eyes gleaming with anticipated destruction, like it was hungry and seeking prey. Starving for a Viking ship.

Everyone instinctively ducked as it attempted fire again. Screams came from the ships behind. Another dragon. The Whispering Death.

At close range, it turned out, the dragons could light a fire. The Nightmare made enough spark to attack the ship, and a stubborn flame began to make its way through the wood, smoldering and giving off thick smoke.

Fire still worked. Not well, but it worked. The job was doable.

There were more than two dragons. Their shapes appeared in the surrounding rocks, all species. Like they had expected the ship, like they didn't want them anywhere near.

"Spitelout, call the other ships!" Stoick shouted. "Have their weasons ready!" Coughing and shielding his eyes from the smoke, Stoick gripped the edge of the ship and flung himself over it. The water was shallow, only up to his chest, but cold and murky. He drew his axe and made his way toward the Nightmare. He had never cared for Nightmares. Even in this cold and damp corner of the world he could feel the fiery heat radiating from it, and the fear that it could still light itself on fire was still valid in his mind.

But it was more graceful than he had ever seen it. Or perhaps it was just better in its home. It climbed the rocks like they were nothing, keeping itself out of reach, snapping back at them with grinning jaws. It was playing a game. It knew it was in its territory, and it was going to play a game.

A Skrill appeared, huge and terrifying. Its wings shot out like they were stolen from a giant moth, and though it had been years since Stoick had touched one he could feel the harsh cut of its brown scales in his memory. This one was larger than Stoick remember, with a head gnarled with twists of scales and wide eyes for the darkness. Its wings swatted against the rocks without demonstrating any pain, and its cry was deafening.

There were too many of them. A few dragons, not even a handful, and there were too many.

They rocked against the ships, sunk tooth and claw into them, lit what fires they could.

The sound was pure cacophony.

Behind him, he could hear the voices of Spitelout and Ack, spreading on his orders for the men to prepare themselves against the dragon attack.

Stoick had no idea where the nest was. He couldn't see. The Skrill and the Nightmare played with the water like a child in the tub, splashing and spraying and making the mist a whirling storm. Their great wingspans blocked out the light until Stoick might as well have been in the middle of a night's storm.

He pulled out his sword and held it out as protection, no defense. It shamed him to do so, but he had no other choice.

He couldn't think. He couldn't fight.

He had no idea what he was doing here.


	4. Homecoming

It might as well have been decades before the remaining ships found their ways to clear ocean once more. The sunlight, however sparse, seemed a blessing from the gods and more than one tough Viking claimed the light affected them in an attempt to deny a case of tears. The remaining ships' hulls floated well enough on the ocean surface with, in most cases, very little bailing needed. The mastery of shipbuilding was never more obvious and for that Stoick was grateful. Good ships meant good skill and good men and hope. If the tribe survived, there would always be hope. Hope was good and solid and remained.

The next had never been found.

So much of Stoick wanted to return to the stony labyrinth. It was a stubbornness that was a sickness. He had declared this trip to find the next as just beneath doctrine for the tribe, and it was as painful as a knife in the back to turn the bows again toward Berk.

Only the fear of the lives of his men made him do so. If it had been no one but him, he would still be back there, as alive as necessary despite a strange image of him mostly dead and still crawling toward the secret of that nest. He should have found it. He was meant to find it. For the good of everyone, the nest had to be found and it was just beneath cowardice to be turning away like this. But supplies were as low as morale and he knew enough to know he just couldn't sacrifice so many men in order to find a nest.

But as soon as he could, as soon as he could rally enough Vikings, he would return. Hel, he would return on his own if he had to.

No lives were lost, that was a subject of thanks, and the leader in Stoick was gave that thanks willingly. He would sacrifice himself to rid Berk of the dragons, but he would never sacrifice another person. A chief put everyone above himself. What he was doing was good. He was bringing back his men, alive and with some people even uninjured and healthy. They would again see their families and strengthen themselves for the next attack.

Yes, that was good. That was a benefit. He had done that job, at least.

The other job was not finished.

He had felt so close.

They had pushed themselves through that tangle of rocks for over a week, at least. It was difficult to keep track of time in the mists, and Stoick would not have been surprised if it had been closer to two weeks. There were some rocky caves not so damp as to be completely inhospitable, and in those they had holed up, waiting for the timing to be right.

It was just too hard to fight all the dragons in that place. The place had been an impasse, the dragons and the geography too tough to move beyond, and Stoick too stubborn to turn back until all supplies had failed and there were few strong enough to fight back.

The Thunderdrum had been a problem. The funnel-shaped beast existed in entire families among the rocks. It swam just beneath the surface of the deeper areas, and within days they had all learned to recognize the dim shadow and run before it could leap upwards with the scream. There were several men whose hearing had still not returned. That dragon was a menace, and the rocks were its perfect home. Many agreed it was more terrible than any of the larger dragons.

That was another thing Stoick hated about dragons. Their variety. How well they had adapted to this portion of the world. Whenever the land or water changed in the slightest, a dragon had found a way to make the most of it, to make itself the king.

Then there were the mists. Wet, yes. But that wetness varied all around. In what Stoick theorized was the midday, blazes of dragon fire were visible like ghostlight all around.

How far did these rocks and islands extend? How long could they be lost in this mist?

Many ships were abandoned, at least temporarily, and those that weren't merely existed as a way to push some semblance of Viking life through these places. As for Stoick, he preferred to keep going on foot, trying to push away the wonder of this place. Yes, they could be lost here, and part of his soul was amazed at the possibility. When hours passed without sight of a dragon, Stoick grudgingly acknowledged the beauty of the rocks and wanted to bring Hiccup there. Once the dragons were all gone, of course.

Maybe he only though that because he missed Hiccup. He didn't like to think of himself as one who really missed anyone, but Hiccup always appeared on his minds on long trips like this. Stoick was pretty sure he wouldn't die and orphan Hiccup, but Stoick was never sure of what Hiccup could handle on his own. For a boy so smart, Hiccup was certainly capable of a lot of stupid things. But that was not fully what bothered Stoick. He just wanted to be home, there in person, making sure that Hiccup was alive and okay and happy. He just liked seeing the boy and he hated worrying. The time not devoted to the dragons was devoted to Hiccup. And worrying. It seemed he was always worrying about Hiccup. There were a few times when he wanted nothing more than turn around and find Hiccup.

But it seemed that every time he thought that, a dragon appeared. Beasts of all sorts, springing from the darkness and rushing the Vikings. It was those times that Stoick remembered why he was here. Destroy the nest. Find it first. Then destroy it.

The dragons seemed almost organized. The attacks seemed planned, almost, though Stoick knew how silly that was. But battles with the weakening Vikings against the dragons were unfair. It was like the dragons knew they were coming and what they wanted.

The Vikings just weren't prepared enough. When the sunlight and dry air made an appearance after so long, they took it. Many seemed starved for it, and even though the general feeling was disappointment in not finding the nest, leaving the rocks was voiced as the best choice and Stoick could not deny it. They had to escape from there.

As Berk grew larger on the horizon Stoick wrestled with his decision to return. It was right. By all accounts, it had been the right decision. On all practical accounts. But he still felt as if were giving up everything it meant to be a Viking.

At least he would see Hiccup. See how he had survived dragon training. He could make sure his son was alive, and then he could plan the next trip forth.

The time at the docks was as inglorious as a failed venture could be. The remaining handful of ships sailed in, sails burnt, hulls full of bite marks. There was hardly a word as the pathetic last bit of supplies were removed. It was chores only. A failed chore that was now over. Nothing would be said about it, and everyone would return to other portions of their lives.

Stoick felt like a complete fool coming in. The day was sunny, the seabirds active, and there was no victory to compliment the beauty of the day. One by one, they slowly filed from the boats. Scrap wood was what remained of those ships.

There was no sign of Hiccup on the docks. Stoick hadn't really expected Hiccup to appear for it had been several years since Hiccup had last been waiting for Stoick at the docks, but Stoick found himself scanning the silent crowd for any sign of his son. And nothing. Gone were the days of years before when Hiccup would break loose of whomever had been taking care of him and run to Stoick, nearly getting himself trampled in the process. Ah well. Stoick hadn't been expecting it. So with only a few more glances around he trudged across the dock.

"I trust you found the nest, at least," Gobber said as Stoick passed him. The other man looked somewhat positive, the only one in the village still holding onto hope of success.

Stoick resisted an urge to punch him. "Not even close." All he needed was a reminder of the failure, screaming dragons, sleeping in puddles, they constant sensation of wet. All Stoick wanted was to make sure Hiccup was alive and then go strategize some more.

Gobber fell into pace behind him with a bitter and low "Ah. Excellent."

Sarcasm wasn't helping Stoick's mood. He did figure Gobber would have hinted by now at Hiccup's death if such a thing had happened. Perhaps something good had happened here. Perhaps they had the best recruits he could hope for. Though he doubted it. "Hope you had a lot more success than me."

A strange look came over Gobber's face as he grabbed Stoick's empty basket and tucked it under his own arm, and his gaze shifted away. "Well if by success you mean that your parenting troubles are over with, then… yes."

What was that supposed to mean? Parenting troubles? Over? The first ray of panic shot into him as he locked eyes with Gobber.

But further questions could not be given. Almost immediately he was attacked by a vocal wave of cheering from behind him as a line of those who had remained on the island flocked toward him.

"Congratulations Stoick! Everyone is so relieved!"

"Out with the old and in with the new, right?"

"No one will miss that old nuisance!"

"The village is throwing a party to celebrate!"

Pure and utter terror. Stoick tried to come up with words, but that proved difficult when he was not even sure what he was to be thinking. Horror welled up inside of him at every comment and his imagination went wild. Hiccup? Something had happened to Hiccup. Apparently Hiccup was no longer a problem and was not missed and… the nightmare images of dragon training going badly returned. Was that the explanation to Gobber's cryptic speech. Stoick would kill Gobber if anything had happened to Hiccup. He would absolutely and entirely kill him.

Just as soon as he had recovered from this shock. It was only after strange words of things happening to Hiccup had faded and all the happy celebrators had gone that Stoick could finally speak. Maybe Hiccup wasn't dead. Maybe he had just… run away. And that was cause to celebrate? He might just have to kill the entire village. He voiced the horror he felt. "He's gone?"

Gobber turned his face away for more vague words. "Uh, yeah. Most afternoons. But who can blame him? I mean, the life of a celebrity is very rough. He can barely walk through the village without being swarmed by his new fans." There was a hint of a smile in the last phrase that could not be hidden.

It had been the last thing Stoick had expected to hear. Celebrity? Fans? Just what had happened over the past few weeks. He grabbed Gobber's shoulder. "Hiccup?"

Gobber's face shone with pride and the pleasure of having played a good joke. "Who would have though it, eh? He has this way with the beasts."

It didn't make any sense. Stoick was aware of Hiccup's shortcomings as much as anyone if not more so. He was the boy's father, after all. Hiccup had not only survived dragon training but had… succeeded?

All the disappointment of the dragon islands vanished as Stoick thought of Hiccup. What must have happened? Why had he not been there to see his son, his wonderful and talented son, best dragons in the arena and shine? A late bloomer, that was what Hiccup was. It was true. All Hiccup had needed was an opportunity to show what he could do. And here Stoick had been blindly trying to turn Hiccup in so many other directions. He should have recognized the boy's passion, should have tried harder with him. Stoick had given up far too quickly.

Maybe that was why Hiccup had not come to the docks. He was in the arena, fighting a dragon, showing all the power of his bloodline.

Stoick should have known, should have seen this coming. Yet he loved the surpise of it all. Hiccup was his son, after all.

The day was a beautiful one, after all.


	5. Dragons and Bonding

The house was empty.

Stoick laughed softly to himself. Of course it was empty. He should have expected the return home and the bellowing of Hiccup's name with no response. Not that Hiccup had ever really been home at convenient times, but now it made sense. The delightful irony was how much Stoick wanted to see him. Oh, he had always liked seeing Hiccup, of course. But this was different.

Stoick and Hiccup had never really… talked. It wasn't that Stoick had never wanted to talk to Hiccup, but conversation had never been of any particular importance to him and there hadn't been much to talk about anyway. Dragons attacked, things happened in the village… was that all necessary for conversation? There had been times when Stoick had felt more should be said, but nothing had come of that and the desire had crumbled over the years.

Still… Stoick had nothing against conversation. Maybe it would be nice.

But of course the tough young Viking was elsewhere causing mayhem. Stoick had never been so proud. All these years of his son being who he was and now this. A Viking. A young Viking not even full grown who had managed to make himself celebrated by the entire village.

Stoick should have known. He loved the fact that he should have known. He wanted to find Hiccup and tell him all of that and make everything end up just wonderfully. Maybe Hiccup could explain why all this talent had remained so hidden. Maybe Stoick could tell him how proud he was of him. It would be wonderful. More than wonderful.

Maybe he should give Hiccup a gift. He had the perfect idea, something he had kept half-forgotten in storage.

The helmet had never been meant as a gift per say. A good helmet was necessary to the life of a warrior and it was only common sense that anyone doing anything dangerous wear one. Vikings weren't stupid. Stoick had actually made the helmet several years ago, no particular thought intended, just something that Hiccup would need when he entered dragon training.

Of course that was before Stoick had doubted his son's abilities in dragon training. How foolish of him. Maybe if he had just given the helmet to Hiccup at the time this miracle of Hiccup's talent would have emerged sooner. Ah well. No sense fighting the past.

Helmet under his arm, he headed back outside. The afternoon was finishing up and the air was growing hazy. So Hiccup disappeared most afternoons. And when did he return? Stoick had never felt so impatient. He had never felt so excited to his son.

So where did he go in the afternoons? Hiccup had always loved playing outside, running off into the woods… and trees covered so much of the island that Stoick wasn't about to go tramping through them looking for Hiccup. Though he supposed he could try Raven's Point. The thought was originally a joke that Stoick quietly laughed at, but it did get him thinking.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to deny that Hiccup had managed to shoot down a Night Fury. Hiccup was smart. He could have done anything. If only it weren't for all those other… incidents… where Hiccup had claimed the exact same thing. The boy who cried dragon.

Stoick stared up into the trees… wondering. Could it be? Could Hiccup have really managed to shoot down a Night Fury? Something no one else had done? The idea was impossible, laughable. And yet…

He wasn't sure what made him go. Sheer fatherly pride, the excitement of seeing Hiccup, the fact that he had something to make him forget the disaster that had been that journey to find the dragon nest, maybe the desire to finally answer that question from weeks ago. He had never gone into the woods for many things beyond hunting. It felt… good. Daylight was fading, but Stoick's eyes were sharp.

Raven's Point. To think that Hiccup could even predict where the dragon had fallen.

Perhaps it was too late in the day to look for anything. What was he looking for? If Hiccup had killed a dragon, what would be left of it? Stoick had always suspected the dragons as scavengers who wouldn't turn up their noses at the flesh of their own kind. And was Stoick's eyesight good enough to spot a dragon in the darkness? Or what was left of one?

He was still excited for Hiccup. Definitely excited. If there were proof of what Hiccup had done, if Stoick could find that Night Fury, he could… say that he believed him. They could take its skull and show off Hiccup's talent to everyone. But the trees were thick and blocked the moonlight.

* * *

It was well into night by the time Stoick returned to the village. Still no Hiccup in the house, but someone did mention seeing him heading towards the blacksmith stall. Stoick had to smile at that. Hiccup and his inventions.

So he had the boy cornered at last. Stoick could hardly contain his enthusiasm. He had to play this right. This was… going to be fun.

According to Gobber, Hiccup had long set up his own little niche in the stall, a tiny slot in the corner where Gobber could send the boy to be out of the way. Stoick was sure Hiccup was there, and once entering the stall the tell-tale candlelight was visible. As he came closer, he could see Hiccup at his desk, fiddling with a stick of charcoal and looking bored out of his mind. Then again, it was hard to find other things exciting after getting oneself involved in dragon killing. Oh, Hiccup.

Stoick approached with enough noise to startle Hiccup to his feet. Hiccup jumped up, eyes full of panic, and began pushing back those silly drawings of his like Stoick actually cared what was on them. "Dad! You're back!"

That much was clear. Stoick kept his face grim. He had to play this well.

"Uh, Gobber's not here, so…" Hiccup continued in a shrill, panicked voice. It was so hard to think of this boy as the new sensation of Berk.

"I know," Stoick replied grimly as he shoved his way inside and took in the sight of Hiccup's space. Drawings, diagrams, models… very boring. Not to mention small. But at least it showed Hiccup was smart. "I came looking for you."

Hiccup looked ready to faint. "You did?"

"You've been keeping secrets." Oh, but this was fun.

Hiccup seemed at a loss for words and could barely get the next two out. "I… I have?" He leaned onto his elbow, which was set on top of some book.

Now to bring out the big weapons. Stoick summoned the strictest face he could and made his voice deadly cold. "Just how long did you think you could hide it from me?"

Hiccup dissolved all eye contact and returned to fiddling with books and papers. "I… I… I don't know what you're…"

So humble, so modest. But he was Stoick, chief and not to mention father. "Nothing happens on this island without me hearing about it."

"Oh?" Hiccup returned eye contact, but looked sick.

"So…" Stoick continued, "Let's talk… about that dragon." He moved closer to Hiccup, and noticed how quickly Hiccup slunk away.

Hiccup seemed to emotionally collapse, and fell against the desk with a muttered "Oh gods." He took a deep breath. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I… I … was going to tell you." All his actions were nervous. "I just didn't know how to, uh…"

It was like Hiccup thought he was in trouble. Stoick couldn't refrain from laughing. Which seemed to make Hiccup even more uncomfortable.

"You're… you're not upset?" Hiccup managed.

"What?" That was the furthest thing from Stoick's mind. "I was hoping for this!"

"Uh… you were?" Now Hiccup just looked confused, but Stoick didn't have time to think about that. All that came out was everything he had ever wanted to tell a son about dragons. He heard the enthusiasm in his own voice and it didn't matter that Hiccup did not seem to care. This was it. This was what they had always needed.

And then he stopped. And waited.

Hiccup stared at him.

Well? Wasn't this how conversation was supposed to start? Stoick broadened his smile and scooted closer. He wanted to talk. They could talk about this. Stoick had already said plenty, he had to have made Hiccup feel better.

Hiccup gave a nervous sigh.

Stoick scooted closer.

Time trudged forward. This wasn't fun. Nothing was happening. No bonding was taking place. Now to fix this new mess. "Oh, uh. Here. I brought you something." He pulled out the helmet, and Hiccup's eyes lit up. "To keep you safe. In the ring." Like Hiccup wouldn't know what a helmet was for. He handed it over.

Hiccup looked happy for the first time that night. "Thanks," he said softly as he looked the helmet over.

"Ah, your mother would have wanted you to have it."

Hiccup smiled at that.

"It's half of her breastplate."

There went Hiccup's smile. Gone. Suddenly the helmet was no longer desirable. As if metal couldn't be recycled and made useful again. Stoick had to do something with the armor. He pointed to his own helmet. "Matching set. Keeps her close, you know."

Hiccup just looked even more uncomfortable. Well, this was just sad. They couldn't even bond over a departed loved one. Oh, well. Teenage boys were weird. "Wear it proudly. You deserve it. You've held up your end of the deal." More than Stoick had expected. And here he had been thinking Hiccup would get himself killed.

But Hiccup didn't seem to have any response. He just set the helmet aside and yawned.

Tired. Of course. Stoick could accept that.

Maybe it had been too much bonding for one day.


End file.
